


Dishonorable Intentions

by elenajames



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, Developing Relationship, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 12:01:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10244981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenajames/pseuds/elenajames
Summary: Sid’s not going to lie to himself. Maybe this did all start out a little Cruel Intentions. Maybe there was a little spite stirred into the mix the first time he let himself flirt with Gostisbehere, and a bit of twisted pleasure when the boy blushed pink.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this](https://thesinbin.dreamwidth.org/3790.html?thread=4694990) prompt at the sin bin.

“Even more treacherous than he is attractive, he has never uttered a single word without some dishonorable intention.” - _ Cruel Intentions,  _ 1999\. 

  


* * *

  


Sid’s not going to lie to himself. Maybe this did all start out a little  _ Cruel Intentions _ . Maybe there was a little spite stirred into the mix the first time he let himself flirt with Gostisbehere, and a bit of twisted pleasure when the boy blushed pink. 

  


It doesn’t feel that way now, not with Shayne warm and soft and sleeping in his bed. His phone keeps lighting up on the bedside, and Sid has to wonder if it’s concerned teammates, if it’s  _ Giroux _ looking for their precious defenseman. He can’t look, though, doesn’t want to. The world will have as much of them as they want soon enough, and Sid’s not ready for it to infringe on this tiny bubble of safety that tomorrow is sure to burst. 

  
  


Sid had let some of the guys drag him out for once, to a bar that’s actually nice and mostly filled with attendees from the awards. Alcohol helps with making small talk, nearly everyone talking about summer plans and getting ready for next season. Edging away from PK, Sid weaves through the crowd to get another drink - and that’s where he finds Shayne. 

  


It’s surprising that he’s alone, really; up-and-comers rarely are at events like this, everyone wanting a piece of the new kid. Maybe that’s what draws Sid to nudge his way up to the bar next to Shayne, watching him in his peripheral while waiting for the bartender. Shayne glances over curiously, drink cradled in his hand. It’s mostly melting ice, Sid notices, and he orders an extra beer when the bartender finally reaches him. 

  


“Thanks?” Shayne swivels in his seat to face Sid fully then, fingers wrapped loosely around the glass Sid pushed toward him. 

  


“Not really your scene, huh?” Sid says by way of answer, leaning into Shayne’s space too close to just be casual. He watches the rookie’s eyes widen just a little, and he offers a smirk that turns Shayne pink. 

  


“Not - not really, no. Big events like this aren’t anyone’s, are they?” 

  


Laughing softly, Sid shakes his head. “I guess not. Except maybe PK’s.” 

  


Both their eyes seek him out across the room, where he’s in the thick of a crowd of players, arm slung around Artemi Panarin. “Yeah,” Shayne agrees, smile fading a little and he goes in for a drink to cover it up. 

  


“Hey,” Sid reaches out, skimming his fingers along the shoulder of Shayne’s suit, turning his body so there’s a near-intimate space between them. “Don’t let it get to you. You had a great season.” 

  


The look he gets is a little sad and lot hopeful and something twists just a little inside Sid. It shouldn’t be this easy, but Shayne’s opening his mouth and asking, “Are you - Don’t take this the wrong way but - is this the part where you ask if I want to get out of here, Crosby?” 

  


“Maybe. Do you?” Heart hammering, dirty thrill up his spine, Sid tries to smile sweetly instead of smirking like he wants when Shayne nods. 

  


“Yeah. Yeah, I think I do.” 

  


“Then call me Sid.” 

  


There are plenty of people coming and going in cabs, so they don’t look out of place flagging one down and climbing in the back together. Shayne takes a couple moments texting - letting the people he came with know he’s leaving, probably - and Sid just watches him as much as he can without flat-out staring. 

  


The league is full of good-looking guys, and more than a few have landed in Sid’s bed over the years; Shayne’s up there, in that regard, and Sid lets his mind drift during the ride back to their motel. Hockey players are all fit in their own way. Outside of his hockey gear, Shayne runs on the thinner side, and - while they’re the same height, more or less - he’s going to look small under Sid’s bulk and there’s no denying that Sid very much likes that idea. 

  


Sid pays the driver when they roll up, waving off Shayne’s protests as he signs and climbs out the cab. The NHL had put most of them up in the same hotel, so it’s probable that Shayne’s got a room somewhere, but Sid just pushes the button for his floor. A few people get on at the next floor, so they leave a respectable distance between them until the door to Sid’s room has clicked shut behind them. 

  


Using his size to his advantage, Sid backs Shayne up against the door, catching his face in one hand. Lust mixes with a healthy dose of fear in Shayne’s face, but he allows his eyes to drift shut nonetheless when Sid dips in to press their mouths together. It’s easy to get Shayne’s clothes off, letting the younger man touch and kiss and bite as he wants while Sid works to strip them both. There’s a fumbling moment as they try to rid themselves of their socks and shoes, dress slacks caught until laces can be ripped free and shoes kicked away; Sid pushes Shayne back toward the bed, toppling them down on it. 

  


Sex has always been easier than talking for Sid. Pinning Shayne’s hands over his head, Sid nips at his mouth, his jaw, down his throat, leaving a sucked-purple bite at his collarbone. Shayne makes room for Sid between his thighs easy as anything, gasping prettily as Sid bites at him and rolls his hips to drag their cocks together. Sliding his hands from wrist to bicep, Sid feels the strength of Shayne’s arms, the way he flexes when Sid drags his mouth over the softness of his nipples, toying with them so they’re left hard and damp from his touch. 

  


“Fuck, Sid, let me touch you.” Shayne squirms in his hold then, reaching up to drag Sid down so he can kiss him, tongue flicking in tentatively and Shayne groans out this delightfully soft sound against Sid’s mouth. Blunt nails drag at Sid’s shoulders, his back, callouses lighting up the nerves along his ribs and up his belly. Sid touches right back; Shayne’s as thin and as built as Sid thought and so very responsive as Sid’s fingers brush and grab, teasingly light and tight enough to bruise. Shayne flushes darker when Sid slides his hands under him to palm his ass, dipping the tips of his fingers between his cheeks and, yeah, Sid is definitely getting everything he wanted out of this. 

  


“Gonna fuck you,” he murmurs, hands running up toned thighs to skim right by Shayne’s dick. “You okay with that?” 

  


“Ye-yeah. Do you have . . . ?” 

  


Rolling himself out of bed, Sid digs through the pocket of his bag he always keeps stocked for trips like this. Shayne snags the lube from him, bolder than Sid thought he would be as he lays back, wetting a couple of fingers and working himself open as Sid watches. Small pants escape Shayne’s lips when he pushes in deeper, stretches wider. Sid rolls the condom on, squeezing himself to ease some of the ache. 

  


“You’ve done this before.” 

  


Shayne lowers his eyes a little, and Sid’s sure if he wasn’t already flushed, there’d be a blush creeping into his face. “Sex? Yeah. Hookups, not so much. Enough to know what works for me.” Thick fingers slide free, and Sid takes that as his invite to move in closer. He pushes in steady, drinking down the loud gasp that Shayne gives, watching as he tosses his head back, bracing himself on the headboard. 

  


“Like that?” Sid rocks in hard, quick, laughing when Shayne curses below him. Curling himself over Shayne, Sid fucks in with deep, driving thrusts, watching as the other man’s face twists in pleasure. There are pink and purple marks scattered across Shayne’s skin, bright like the blush in his cheeks. He looks good getting fucked, and the thought gets Sid snapping his hips faster. 

  


“Too- fuck, Sid, that’s too-” Shayne tries to get out, but his words fade away into a high sound when Sid drags a hand down to stroke his cock. With Sid watching, Shayne tosses his head, bucking his hips before finally shoving a fist in his mouth to bite down on as he yells through his orgasm. He huffs around it, eyes wide and wet when he looks up at Sid, practically begging him to finish. 

  


“Pretty boy, look at you, fuck,” Sid grunts, pressing in deep. He can feel Shayne shiver beneath him, flutter around his dick. He shudders again when Sid pulls out, breathless and red-faced, come splattered across his belly. Dropping the condom into the wastebasket, Sid drops back on the bed, gratified when Shayne doesn’t move away from where their shoulders are pressed together. 

  


“Damn,” Shayne finally laughs, still breathy as he stretches. Rolling to face Sid, he winces a little before settling down. 

  


“Sore?” 

  


“Yeah. Been a while and we didn’t exactly take it easy.” 

  


“Mmm.” Sid drifts in post-orgasm haze, dropping an arm so Shayne rest his head on it. 

  


They float for a while, just until Shayne’s breaths start getting just a bit too heavy. Sid nudges him up, doing his best to look apologetic. “You probably don’t want to be caught coming out of my room. There’s a lot of guys staying on my floor and you look - well.” Dazed, covered in hickeys, the rookie looks freshly fucked and, while coming out of just any hotel room isn’t too incriminating, a handful of the other players know this is Sid’s room. 

  


Together they gather clothes, Sid watching Shayne tug on his now-rumpled suit. On a whim, Sid snags the pen and paper from the desk, scribbling his number down and tucking the folded piece into Shayne’s hand. “Call me?” he murmurs, sweet and soft as he steals a kiss before ushering the boy out the door. 

  


He wakes up the next morning, sated and warm, with a little message notification from an unknown number. 

  


_ S: Hey it’s Shayne. Hope this isn’t too soon.  _

_ C: Not at all. It’s nice to wake up to. When do you leave for Philly?  _

  


* * *

  


They meet up, when they can. Summer is easier without the steady drive of games and practice, even if they each go back home for while to see their families; they can still text, call when they’re alone, and Sid gets Shayne to talk him off more than once, illicit photos of the other man stashed in the depths of his phone. 

  


World's, shockingly, is even better. No one is looking twice at guys from opposing teams hanging out with each other, not when Toronto is flooded with NHL players. It’s there that Sid gets the dirty thrill of fucking Shayne in his room, hand tight over his mouth so that his teammates in the surrounding rooms don’t hear the choked cry he gives when he comes. 

  


The season’s tough, but there are gaps in the schedule here and there that allow for it, combined with the short flight between Philly and Pittsburgh. They trade off flying back and forth to each other’s cities to steal a night together here and there. 

  


It turns out that Shayne’s got a confidence in the bedroom that matches his play on the ice; he’s a good lay, if a little clingy before and after. Sid adapts, learning just how much he can give to keep Shayne content. For the most part, it’s a quiet, personal achievement. Sid’s not one to brag, really, but there’s a part of him that takes glee in knowing he’s fucking one of Philly’s precious Flyers. 

  


“You’re serious,” Nate says from the screen, half laughing as he leans back in his chair. “Shayne Gostisbehere? Really?” 

  


“Yeah, really.” 

  


“Dude that’s - you’re just fucking? I didn’t think he was the type.” 

  


“Lots of guys are the type, man. I’ve told you that.” 

  


Something in Nate’s expression shifts, and he drops back down, suddenly close to the camera. “Sid. Dude. He knows it’s just fucking, right? Like . . . yeah I can see the appeal of having one of your rivals in bed, but still, if you’re leading him on - that’s kinda cruel don’t you think?” 

  


“Hey,” Sid bites. “I never promised him anything. It is what it is.” 

  


All he gets is a raised brow in return. “That’s cold, Crosby, even for you.” 

  


Crosby. He hates when Nate calls him that. It seeds a kernel of  _ wrong _ in his gut that he doesn’t want or need there. They talk stiltedly for a bit longer before Nate finally begs off and hangs up, just as Sid’s phone buzzes on the table. 

  


_ S: Boarding. See you soon. _

  


They never go pick each other up from the airport. That’s far too risky, so Sid waits at home until he hears a car door slam out front a few hours later. He opens the door when the cab’s pulling away, letting Shayne inside and making sure the door’s locked behind him. 

  


Shayne looks tired, coming off another back-to-back, but he tugs out of the kiss that Sid draws him into to dig something out of his bag. 

  


“Hey, ah. I know you’re pretty superstitious but I got you this. If you don’t like it or want it, I totally get it.” It’s a simple silver medallion on a chain, nothing that would catch any special attention. “For protection. I picked it out myself.” 

  


Sid’s shaking. He doesn’t realize it until he reaches absently for the chain. It’s like someone has grabbed that tiny bit of delight inside him and yanked it out, leaving behind - guilt? Shame? 

  


Fuck. Fuck Nate. Fuck Shayne and - 

  


Fuck him, because nobody besides his family and a handful teammates has ever done anything with even the slightest hint of consideration for his superstitions, for his  _ weirdness _ . Sex is one thing, but this - this is feelings. Emotional investment and Sid’s still shaking as he holds the little silver medallion in his palm. 

  


“Sid. Are you okay?” Gentle fingers touch his elbow, skimming up to his wrist. 

  


Jerking, Sid nods, closing his hand around the necklace. “Thank you, Shayne.” 

  


It’s the worst choice he could make, but Sid fumbles with the clasp until he can put it on. It settles against his chest like it belongs. Clearing his throat, Sid whispers again, “Thank you.” 

  


They don’t fuck. Not this time. Sid bundles Shayne up onto the couch, some movie playing as Shayne relaxes into his arms. It keeps him occupied while Sid tries to sort out the sudden jumble of thoughts and emotions that are clogging up his head. He still hasn’t figured things out by the next morning when he sees Shayne off with a soft kiss, watching as he jogs down the sidewalk to the waiting cab. 

  


Knowing he’s about to get an epic amount of shit, Sid fires off a quick text. 

  


_ C: Nate? You got time for a call? I need to talk.  _

Sid makes it through his routine and the game that night, compartmentalizing so he can focus on hockey. That thin veneer slips away as soon as he’s in his car, checking his messages. The first is from Nate -  _ Yeah, hit me up whenever. We don’t play for a couple of days  _ \- and Shayne. 

  


_ S: You okay? You seemed off yesterday.  _

_ S: You’re probably at the rink already, but just let me know how you are?  _

  


Another buzzes in as Sid’s staring at his phone, wondering just what the fuck he’s done. 

  


_ S: Sid?  _

_ C: Yeah, sorry. Just got some stuff to figure out. Good luck tomorrow. _

  


Connecting the phone to the car radio, Sid punches Nates number as he pulls out of the parking lot. It’s late, but Nate doesn’t sound tired or annoyed when he picks up. 

  


“Sid? What’s going on, man?” 

  


“Nate,” he sighs, hands tightening on the steering wheel. “I think I fucked up.” 

  


* * *

  


Sid’s home for three days during the Flyer’s bye week. There’s a game against the  _ Capitals, _ and he can’t really afford the distraction of Shayne. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t wait for him at the airport, pulling through to pick him up. Shayne’s exhausted, sad and defeated and Sid knows he has to be hurting; he watched the game, after all. Stupid, but it’s early and still dark, so Sid draws him in for a gentle kiss before driving back to home. 

  


“Sorry,” Shayne murmurs when Sid’s got him tucked in. 

  


“Don’t be. It was a rough game, and you need to sleep. Just rest.” Something soft, warm, and near painful settles in Sid’s chest as he rests atop the covers, watching Shayne’s eyes slip shut. He shuffles out, careful not to wake the resting man in his bed as he makes his way downstairs. 

  


Going through this game day routine, Sid wishes that he could call his mother; Nate’s a good friend - one who has had a lot to say since Sid’s revelation - but having a weary and downtrodden lover upstairs, in his bed? That’s something Sid desperately wants his mom’s advice on. 

  


Shayne stumbles downstairs around noon, just before Sid’s about to head up to shake him awake. He comes gently into Sid’s arms, clinging for a moment until Sid nudges him toward a chair and slides a plate of food in front of him. Sid pulls his chair up close as he dares, but Shayne doesn’t balk at Sid’s presence in his space. 

  


“G says we have to put it behind us. Let it go and focus on what’s coming.” For a moment, Sid’s brain stutters at the use of ‘G’; G is Geno, but for Shayne it’s Giroux, and it always takes Sid time to adjust. Shayne has a hand clenched around his fork, fist tight. Sid reaches to soothe it, thumb over hockey-roughened knuckles. 

  


“He’s right.You have to let it go.” Sid gives Shayne’s hand a little squeeze. “You can learn from your mistakes, but if you let them haunt you, then you’re not learning. You’re just reliving. And that can mess you up.” 

  


He gives more now, in moments like this. Everything, whatever Shayne needs to hear. This time, it doesn’t get him a smile, but he does get a tiny sigh and a nod, he gets Shayne loosening the death grip on his fork to finish eating. The empty plate means more to him now than anything he was doing with Shayne even three months ago. 

  


Together, they curl up on the couch. There’s time enough for an episode or two of something mindless before Sid needs to work out and nap himself. Shayne texts - fielding messages from concerned teammates, no doubt - settled back against Sid’s chest. Sid wraps him up in his arms to hold him close, giving a nuzzle to Shayne’s neck that finally coaxes a laugh from him. 

  


“I don’t think we have time for that.” 

  


The words give Sid pause, and he nudges his face closer to Shayne’s throat as he thinks. Really, there’s only one time they hadn’t fucked while together. Every other, Sid had practically dragged Shayne off to bed as soon as the door was shut. “We probably won’t. I just want to have you close. Don’t let me make you uncomfortable.” 

  


Shayne snuggles himself impossibly further into Sids arms at that. “You’re not, but I will.” 

  


Sid drifts off at some point, lulled by the droning of the TV, woken by Shayne nudging him carefully. “Naptime. Let’s go.” 

  


“You don’t need to come with me,” Sid yawns, pulling himself up from the couch. Shayne ignores him in favor of getting the TV turned off, quietly stubborn. They head upstairs together, tucking into Sid’s bed, Sid’s head on Shayne’s chest. Sleep takes him back quickly, only his game time alarm jarring him from a deep sleep. 

  


Sid leaves Shayne at home, stealing one last kiss before he heads out the door. He and his team beat Ovi and his Capitals, but just barely. The news, the  _ scandal _ has already broken by the time he’s heading to his car, phone suddenly erupting with calls and messages. The only one he picks up is Shayne. 

  


“Don’t look at your phone,” comes tight and frightened over the speaker. “Please, Sid, for me. Just don’t look until you get here.” 

  


Sid doesn’t listen, but he wishes he had. “The Star-Crossed Lovers of Pennsylvania” heads up a spread of pictures. Pictures of him and Shayne, at the airport. Shayne climbing into his car, Sid kissing him, and there’s no mistaking who they are, the pictures clear as day. Dumping the phone on the passenger seat, Sid throws his car into gear and drives. 

  


Shayne’s pale, shaking at the kitchen table when Sid gets home. His phone vibrates almost constantly against the wood, screen never quite turning off. A look of fear flickers over Shayne’s face when he raises his head to look at Sid and - 

  


Sid wants nothing more than to wipe it away. He all but yanks Shayne from the stool, holding him too-tight, but refusing to let go. 

  


“We’ll figure it out. Okay? We’ll be  _ fine _ .” 

  


“You looked,” Shayne says weakly. 

  


“I did. I’m sorry. I took that risk and-” 

  


Shayne’s phone is going off again that makes him go stiff. “Sorry, I think - That’s Claude, I should-” 

  


Sid lets him go, but not far as Shayne picks up his phone and swipes to accept the call. He presses closer when Shayne sobs before he even manages a hello. “G?” 

  


They’re quiet for a while, Shayne sniffling softly as he listens to Giroux on the other end. Sid holds him as he finds his voice. Sid, of course, can’t hear what’s being said on the other end. He only gets “No. No, G. No, I’m sure that - Yeah. I know. I’ll be back tomorrow, Sid has a game - Yes, G,  _ Sid _ . Okay. I will. Bye.” 

  


“How was he?” Sid murmurs. 

  


“Pissed. Worried. More worried,” Shayne sighs. “I . . . I have to go home tomorrow, talk to my agent. Talk to everyone.” He twists in Sid’s hold, pulling him in so they’re forehead-to-forehead. “I don’t want to leave you.” 

  


“I know. But you have to. We’ll figure it out, Shayne.”  _ We have to _ .

  


That night, Sid holds him carefully, holds him close, lets him sleep with their phones on silent because - while they’re both tired right down to their bones - this is something that Sid can actually do for Shayne right now, for lack of anything else. 

  


* * *

  


The headlines are probably the worst, Sid thinks. They range anywhere from that initial “Star Crossed Lovers” take to “Is Philly’s Golden Boy A Pittsburgh Toy?” They make Sid sick. 

  


The Pens - players and staff alike - have made it clear that they’re on Sid’s side, and that anyone who isn’t needs to keep it to themselves. The Flyers, thankfully, have done the same for Shayne, although it goes without saying that Sid trusts them less than he does is own guys. That’s why he’s here, after all. 

  


Three days after the metaphorical shit had hit the fan, their respective PR teams had released statements from them both, confirming their relationship and issuing pleas for privacy. Now, a week later, Sid’s post-press conference, tired from a long week of hockey and endless, inane questioning from everyone he knows. And here he is, gearing up for more. 

  


Giroux’s serious but weary as his gaze flicks between Shayne and Sid, the two of them sitting a somewhat respectable distance apart on his couch. Sid finds it hard to not reach for Shayne, the bags beneath his boyfriend’s eyes stark. He gives in when Giroux’s silence drags on, lacing their fingers together even though what he wants is Shayne tucked in his arms, preferably in bed to get the sleep he so obviously needs. 

  


“Are you using him?” 

  


“No.” Sid’s tone is flat, the best he can to do stem what he’s feeling. 

  


“Shayne. He’s good to you?” 

  


“Yeah, G. He is.”

  


“You got shit taste, you know?” Giroux sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Crosby. Me and my boys will come for you if you hurt him, you know that. Assuming he doesn’t kill you first.” 

  


Sid bites back a snarky remark, taking time to think before he opens his mouth, and he can see Shayne roll his eyes in his periphery. “Yeah. I know.” 

  


“How did you two even -” Giroux gives a vague wave his hand at the two of them, finally slumping back in his seat. 

  


“The NHL Awards. We were at a bar, Sid bought me a drink. We talked and uh. I went back to his hotel room.” Shayne laughs a little, awkward and shy. Fearful, still. 

  


“Guess the guys were wrong about you having game after all.” It smacks of a long-standing joke, one that earns a tired laugh from them both. Shayne scoots closer, leaning in to Sid’s side, and Sid doesn’t hesitate to get an arm around him. Giroux watches, taking in the contact and his gaze goes terribly soft. “We’ve got your back, Shayne. And yours, too, Crosby, so long as you treat him right.” 

  


They leave Giroux’s place together, Shayne stopping only to greet Giroux’s fiancé in the lobby. 

  


“Well that went. Well,” Shayne mutters as he buckles himself in. “Can’t believe G gave you the shovel talk.” 

  


“You’re his rookie.” And yeah. Sid gets it. Giroux’s Shayne’s friend, his  _ captain _ , and he feels responsible for the other man’s well-being. If it were Conor, Sid would feel the same way. “It went better than I thought.” They’ll never be friends, but Sid thinks, perhaps, there can be a certain level of understanding between them.

  


“Whatever. Thanks for not, you know. Rising to the bait.” 

  


Sid waits until Shayne pulls them out of the parking lot before he tangles their hands together. He has to fly out for the All Star Game tomorrow, but at least he’s going knowing Shayne does have support at his back. 

  


* * *

  


“I didn’t have - I didn’t think this would be anything.” Sid’s not sure why he’s bringing it up now, but something drags the truth from his throat. 

  


Shayne snorts, fingers swirling through the dusting of hair across Sid’s chest. “You think I did? I figured it was a one off. A fling, and then - I don’t know. Fuck buddies.” 

  


The words make Sid’s chest go tight. 

  


“Really?” he croaks. “When did it change? For you?” 

  


Pushing himself up, Shayne looks down at Sid’s face, concerned and fond all at once. “I don’t know. Thanksgiving maybe?” There’s pink creeping into Shayne’s cheeks and Sid is enthralled. “When you called just to chirp me about our fake holiday and I was just happy to hear your voice. You?” 

  


“I - I don’t know,” Sid answers truthfully. “I realized it when you gave me this,” he rubs the medallion resting on his chest with a fingertip, “but it was before that.” 

  


Shayne’s wrinkling his nose at him them, leaning in for a kiss. “You’re a sap. Who knew.” 

  


“You like it.” Weak chirp, but Shayne laughs now like he always does, dropping back down into the cradle of Sid’s arm. 

  


“Yeah. I guess I do.” 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on [tumblr](http://iaintafraidofnoghostbear.tumblr.com/).


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